Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates The Rose Field, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first revealed in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the air are populated with witches and mythical beasts, but below, buses are caught and beverages is sipped, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to leave in pursuit of that youthful part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired power to extend the religion's dominium. A key character, who saved baby Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and financial crisis rippling out from that area. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the original series, her actions and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a wider battle with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to quell freedom of thinking, innovation and culture: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the finding of a series of unusual cracks in the makeup of the planet's sky: windows that appear to give on to different dimensions. A particular portal seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow vital – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical tussle between innocence and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
